


faultlines.

by LadyofAquitaine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8975143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofAquitaine/pseuds/LadyofAquitaine
Summary: “I don’t want to end up on the cover of the New York Post.” “You won’t, I promise.” 	An AU where Jon is the governor of New York and married, Sansa is the principal dancer of the New York City Ballet, and they smoke cigarettes clandestinely in Sansa’s Greenwich Village walk up. In this fic, Jon and Sansa are complicated and flawed, far from perfect.





	1. Part I

Part I  
The first time Governor Jon Snow saw Sansa Stark was on the cover of one of his wife’s fashion magazines on her nightstand. It was something high class, like Net-a-Porter or Vogue, he couldn’t quite remember. Her flaming red hair stood out on the cover, she was wearing nothing but a black leotard, her lips looked like she had just drunk a glass of Bordeaux, and the caption simply said “Sansa Stark: The Dancer who has transformed modern ballet.” He wanted to open the magazine to read more about this woman, this woman with piercing green eyes who seemed to hold his gaze more than any living person he had met. 

Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him. “You know, I used to have that body when I first met you.” He turned around. Dany was there, wearing a pair of flannel pajamas and her robe. Her almost white blonde hair was piled on top of her head, and her violet eyes shimmered underneath her glasses. 

“You were nineteen when we met Dany, we’ve gotten older.” He said, glancing at the picture on their chest of drawers of their college graduation from Cornell.

He had majored in political science, was on the hockey team, and president of Delta Chi. When he met Daenerys Targaryen, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—until this woman on the cover of the magazine. It was at his frat’s party at Winterfell (the name for their frat house, it being Ithaca), it was junior year, he just became president and was on top of the world, and he was playing pong with Sam, his best friend, when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. A diminutive blonde turned around. She was at least seven inches shorter than he was, and she looked mad. “A bunch of us have been waiting our turns!” She said, annoyed. He glanced around. There was no one waiting. Her friend behind her smiled sheepishly. “When Dany wants something she gets it,” she mumbled. “Aren’t you in Chi O?” He heard himself say. “Yes, but that’s besides the point, I want to play!” She said. He was dealing with an angry drunk. A really cute angry drunk, but that was beside the point. He glanced at the players across from them, pledges, and told them to scoot. “How about we play the game one-on-one? Loser has to kiss the winner.” He waggled his eyebrows. He had never lost a game of pong in his life. “Sure, but prepare to get your ass kicked, Jon Snow.” And that was the first game of pong that Jon Snow ever lost and the first night he slept with Daenerys Targaryen. 

Shaken out of his thoughts, he heard Dany say, “Are you saying I’m no longer attractive?”

“No—that’s not what I was saying,” He paused, knowing he was about to get into deep shit. “We’ve both just gotten older. You’re still beautiful to me, babe.” He leaned over to kiss her before he got into bed. It was true, Dany was still beautiful. She was thirty-three. She and Jon had been married for nine years and had four children. She still had her beautiful violet eyes, but four children had taken a toll on her body. She was about twenty-five pounds heavier than she was when they met, and she had crinkles around her eyes. But those things didn’t matter to Jon—she was the mother of his children, the person who had inspired me to go to law school, to get his JD, to run for state senator in Troy, his hometown. Even the idea of getting married was Dany’s idea when they were twenty-four—“It will save us so much in taxes!” She reasoned. 

Dany had moved from her home in Manhattan to be with him, as he got involved in politics. Her father, Viserys, was an influential fundraiser for Democratic candidates, and had been the one to suggest to Jon that there was need of a new state senator in Troy. Her father had even been the one to suggest running for Governor, which had seemed preposterous at the time, as he was one of the youngest governors ever in New York. But he won, thanks to a combination of luck, super PACs, and youth. Sometimes Jon woke up at 4:30 in the morning and wondered how he had gotten here. The governor’s mansion in Albany, Mrs. Daenerys Snow, even his four children—Bella, Troy, James, and Rickon didn’t seem real. But then the wave of responsibilities hit him and he got out of bed, did his quick thirty-minute workout, and went downstairs to start rebuilding New York’s infrastructure and education system. 

As they settled in bed, Dany glanced over at him. “You know it was Troy’s first day at school today?” 

“Hmm?” Jon said, already beginning to feel his eyelids close. 

“Jon…you do know how old your children are right?”

“Yes…Bella’s seven, Troy is five, James is three, and Rickon is fourteen months old.” He mumbled, eyes closed, face turned away from Dany. 

“I’m being serious Jon. You haven’t been around for them lately. I know you care, but it sometimes seems like you’re absent, that you’d rather be writing poetry, I don’t know…”

The truth was that Jon wished he would’ve been writing poetry, which he would’ve majored in had it been an option—but it was not, not when you were the first in your family to go to college and had to receive a decent salary. He sat up. “Of course I care about the children, Dany, but if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little busy,” he said, gesturing around the room at the mansion. 

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I understand. I’m the First Lady. I think we should take them to the city with us this weekend.” She said, “They miss you.”

“We’re going to the city this weekend?” He questioned. Jon had so many things going on, he often forget which city he was visiting and what his gubernatorial duties where, unless Sam reminded him. 

“Yes,” Dany said curtly. “It’s the New York City Ballet’s debut and we’re the co-chairs remember? There’s a gala afterwards. Of course the kids won’t be going to that, but they can stay with my parents while we are at the gala.” 

As much as he personally didn’t care for Viserys (who was getting meaner as his Alzheimer’s set in) and Rhaella, Rhaella was a wonderful grandmother to their four children, and he knew they would have a good time.

“Do I have to go to that gala?” He said, groaning. He hated going to events where rich Upper East Siders who had never set foot in Troy or Albany pretended to care about what was going on elsewhere in the state. He hated fundraisers in general, which was a laugh seeing as he had gone into politics. 

“Yes…yes we do. And don’t forget to ask Troy about his first day tomorrow…you are scheduled to have breakfast with us!”  
-  
The trip to New York wasn’t as horrible as Jon originally thought it was going to be. He was expecting much worse—endless meetings, endless conversations where he was told he was “failing as a governor and son-in-law” from Viserys, and endless nagging from Dany and crying from the kids. He never understood why Dany wanted so many children—and don’t get him wrong—he loved all his children, but would have been satisfied with one or two. But Dany wanted a big family. Jon always thought it was to fill the void from her older brother Rhaegar’s death—Rhaeger was supposed to be what Jon was now, but died in a car accident coming back from New Haven one night. Jon knew he could never match up to Rhaeger—no matter how hard he tried. 

But the trip was good—Dany was in a good mood, his meetings with the Mayor were productive, and he even got the chance to tour one of the schools that had benefited from his charter school reform act. He and Dany had even taken the kids to Dylan’s Candy Shop and Rockefeller Center, and he laughed as he saw Bella’s eyes light up at the lollipop that was twice as big as her head. He loved his children—his genes had definitely taken over as Bella, Troy, James, and Rickon all had unruly black hair, which Dany had a hard time figuring out, so different from her fair hair. It was unusual that he was able to spend any time with his kids, and it was weird to see Bella and Troy become real people. James and Rickon were still little, but Bella was becoming more and more opinionated, exactly like her mother, while Troy was, he thought, becoming more like himself, quiet and introspective. 

They were staying at a small boutique hotel, The Bowery, as he and Dany liked to support New York owned businesses versus large chains—or so Melisandre, his Senior Advisor, suggested doing. “It looks so good, Governor Snow,” she always said after Sam handed him his itinerary. 

Dany and her staff support had dropped the kids off at her parents’ townhome on the Upper East Side, and he swore Dany looked wistfully at her grammar and high school, Spence. He knew she wanted to send their kids to boarding school, believing that the schools in Albany were subpar. He had difficulty imagining his little Bella at boarding school. He himself had gone on scholarship to Choate, encouraged by his seventh grade English teacher, and he himself felt too young to be at school. He shook himself out of his thoughts, as he finished tying on his bowtie for the gala, as Dany came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a purple dress, her favorite color and the emerald earrings he had gotten her after his first big paycheck from the law firm. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, although it felt like a lie. He and Dany hadn’t had sex since Rickon was born. It wasn’t that he still didn’t get lustful thoughts—the girl on the magazine being an example—it just felt like he and Dany were more partners than lovers. “Thank you,” she said, folding her dress down over her hips. “I wish I could have worn that red dress—the one you like, but it just doesn’t fit anymore,” she sighed. 

He knew how difficult it was for Dany to get older—her beauty had always been a source of pride for her. He remembered going around Cornell and guys gawking at Dany—she had a mix of traditional and unusual beauty—her violet eyes stood out and she looked like a snow queen—so much so that her nickname in his frat was Snow’s Queen. He walked towards her. 

“You will always be that annoying nineteen year old that beat me in beer pong,” he said, smoothing her hair and kissing her forehead. She leaned into him. 

“And you will always be Jon Snow, the hottest, smartest guy at Cornell,” she said, leaning into his shirt. 

“Do we really have to go to this event?”

“We should,” Dany said, sighing. “It will be good, I promise. We will see the first part of the ballet, and then there is a gala with all of the dancers and celebrities. Maybe we’ll even meet Jay-Z!” She said, laughing. 

“Now wouldn’t that be something,” Jon said.

-

The dancer was the most spectacular thing he had ever seen. The ballet was doing an excerpt from Giselle for the opening night performance. She expressed emotion more than any other dancer he had ever seen before—and he was not one for classic theater or dance in the slightest. She was graceful, elegant, and her tut muscles showed even in the slightest movements as she stood on pointe. He looked down into his program to see the dancer’s name. Sansa Stark. Where had he heard it before? He looked at the biography section and saw a close up. It was the woman on the cover of Dany’s magazine. She seemed resolute in the photo provided, her green eyes staring intensely at him. He read her bio intently. 

Sansa Stark is originally from St. Paul, Minnesota. She began dancing at age four with the Twin Cities Ballet, and then moved to New York at eight to attend the School of American Ballet, and was invited by SAB to continue her training. She was named an apprentice with the New York City Ballet at age sixteen, and a member of the corps de ballet that same year. She was named a soloist at age eighteen, and at twenty, was named the youngest principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. Now at twenty-two, Sansa is known for her thoughtful and fierce portrayals of characters in dance. Also known for her charity work, Sansa calls Manhattan home with her dog, Ghost. 

He had to meet her. She was not only stunning, but her emotional connection to dance was remarkable. He hoped that she would be at the Gala afterwards. The excerpt ended and Jon stood up, clapping loudly. Dany looked up at him. It was unusual for Jon to seem this interested in dance. 

-

Jon grabbed another glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray, as he and Dany listened to Mayor Bolton drone on and on about the subway system he had installed. New York City’s mayor was not one of Jon’s favorite people, to say the least. He was selfish, egotistical, and Jon thought he hit his wife, Jeyne, but that was just an idea. But he had to deal with him, seeing as he was one of the most powerful politicians in New York. He heard Ramsay continue talking, when a polished older man cleared his throat. It was Tyrion Lannister, the chief officer of the ballet, and a senior advisor on Jon’s Arts Advisory Board. Jon always enjoyed talking with Tyrion—he was whip smart, had graduated from Juilliard, and a lot nicer than his sister, Cersei, who was the president of the Republican Party of New York.

“Governor, Mayor, I would like to introduce you to three of our principal dancers. May I introduce you to Myrcella Baratheon, Sansa Stark, and Daairo Naharis?” The three dancers politely nodded. Myrcella, who not only looked anorexic, but had a sort of plain blondeness stated; “We wanted to thank you for coming. We know how busy you must be as politicians and we very much appreciate your patronage.”

Jon only had eyes for Sansa. She was beautiful, reed-thin without looking sickly, and her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but she managed to look elegant and refined. Standing in front of him, she seemed younger—but she was. She was only twenty-two and Jon was pushing thirty-four. 

Jon noticed that Dany had left the small group, running to talk to one of her high school friends who now served on the Met’s boards, and Ramsay was looking devilishly at Myrcella. Jon heard himself say, “Would you like another glass of champagne?” to Sansa. 

“Yes,” Sansa said shyly. Jon held out his arm for Sansa and they walked towards the bartender. Jon leaned in slowly, and he smelled Sansa’s perfume—it was spicy and smelled like cinnamon. “I just wanted to say your dancing—it was incredible. I’ve never seen anything remotely like it before.”

“Thank you, Governor,” Sansa said.

“Call me Jon, I insist.” 

“Thank you, Jon.” Sansa replied. “Do you like being in New York or Albany?”

“I love New York, but I was raised in Troy, so sometimes the city can be a bit overwhelming.”

“And being governor isn’t?” Sansa said with a smirk.

“No, it is, I just like the outdoors, sometimes the city can be a bit cooped up.”

“I grew up in St. Paul so I understand. I miss the smell of snow that hasn’t been infiltrated by gas and taxis and the subway system. I wish my dog had the chance to go through the woods—all he has is Central Park.”

They had reached the bartender, and Jon ordered them two glasses of Veuve Clicquot. The bartender seemed flabbergasted that the governor of New York was so casually ordering drinks and he gaped a bit. Sansa noticed him staring a bit.

“Does it ever get tiring?”

“What?”

“Getting gaped at like that?”

“Oh—wouldn’t you know better, Ms. Principal Dancer?”

“I haven’t really…I mean the only times people gape at me is when I go out and men find out I’m a ballerina. It fulfills some sick, twisted fantasy and a lot of time they have foot fetishes—it’s the pointe shoes I think, even though my feet are disgusting.”

Jon looked down---her feet were in lace up suede black heels and they looked beautiful. 

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Getting hit on? No—I mean, when my brother comes and visits and drags me out it does. I mainly stay at home—I’m so tired usually. But for you—does it ever get annoying?”

“No—I had time to become a person—fame didn’t happen when I was young.”

“You are young,” she laughed, elbowing him in the side.

“Not as young as you.” He laughed. He hadn’t felt this comfortable with anyone in a very long time. 

“What about that magazine cover? Did it attract any attention?” 

She blushed. “That was my agent’s idea. I hope you didn’t look at the pictures in it.” 

“What were they?”  
She took out her phone and opened to it. She was wearing nothing but point shoes, her back arched and her hands placed sensually, covering her breasts. She was gorgeous. He felt himself harden just looking at it. Sansa quickly put it away, as his eyes bugged out and he adjusted his pants. 

“Yeah…that wasn’t my idea. They told me it was to show a dancer’s body, but I didn’t realize it would come out so…lasciviously.”

“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he said, staring at her.

“Can I show you something?” Sansa asked. 

“Of course.”

“It means sneaking away for a little bit.”

He nodded. She grabbed his hand, and they ran away from the crowd, and Sansa let them into a back room with a key from her small purse. 

“This is the costume room. I dreamed about being able to have as many costumes as I wanted as a little girl.”

Jon looked around at the tulle, and the pointe shoes dyed in different colors lying around. He then looked at the woman standing right in front of him. She was two inches shorter in her heels and her red hair stood out in the dim light. They had only been talking for an hour, but it felt like an eternity. “Sansa…” he breathed.

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. It was long and sensuous, and she pushed her tongue into his mouth. Her hands went around his neck, and he felt himself press against her. This was she—the girl from the dance, the girl from the program, the girl from the magazine. She stepped back. 

“What did I just do?”

“We kissed.” 

“No—I kissed the married hot governor of New York!”

“You think I’m hot?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. 

“I have to go,” Sansa said.

“Wait,” Jon grasped her arm as she turned. “I felt something there that I haven’t felt in a very long time. Can I call you one time? I promise I’m not fucking around—I really like you—I find you bewitching Sansa.”

“I don’t want to end up on the cover of the New York Post.”

“You won’t. I promise.” 

Sansa grabbed a small notebook out of her purse and wrote something. She handed it to Jon. 

And that was how the affair began.


	2. Part II

Part II.

Sansa. All he could do was think about her, dream about her, text her. He had gotten a phone to clandestinely stay in contact with her. He would write her every morning with a greeting, “Good morning!” Then they would continue texting throughout the day. Sansa was preparing for her role in the full production of Giselle, and was incredibly busy. Tyrion was having them practice thirteen hours a day and Sansa would describe coming home with broken toenails. “It’s super disgusting, blood everywhere,” she would write and Jon would wish nothing else then to come to her side and give her a foot massage and run a bath and make her dinner—god, he hadn’t even cooked in four years, having a chef in the mansion. 

It was hard for Jon to go through his day without thinking of her—of her smile, of the way her lips felt pressed against his. He felt like he was living in an almost dream-like state. Melisandre asked him if he had smoked any weed yesterday, he was so out of it. Even Sam asked if there were any problems between him and Dany—and, even more so than before, he and Dany were better than ever. He thought having Sansa made him happier, and a better father and a better husband. He couldn’t quite admit to himself it was Sansa’s name he thought and red hair he wished he was pulling when he and Dany finally had sex after fourteen months. 

“Governor Snow…earth to Governor Snow…” he heard Melisandre say. “I’m sorry,” he felt as he came to. “Great, now we have our governor on board, let’s get back to work.” He blushed, aware that he was the one who wasn’t in tune to the meeting that was going on. 

“As you know there’s been an economic downturn in Westchester County, which isn’t good so close to the holidays. Governor Snow, it might be a good time for you to head down there and show your solidarity with the community and get people shopping again—tourism there is big as is shopping because of that huge mall they have,” Melisandre said. 

Westchester County…that was near Manhattan…that would be a chance to see Sansa for it was so close. It was perfect! “Yes, that would be great!” Jon said, showing a level of excitement that he hadn’t for quite awhile. 

“Is there a new local business there that needs an opening? It would be great to be there and cut the ribbon, so to speak,” Jon commented.

“There’s the Jon Snow that became governor!” Melisandre shouted. She was the only one who could say things like that to Jon—she was his best advisor, the smartest woman he had ever met—though could be quite intense and not everyone held the same warm affection towards her that Jon had. 

“Is there anything going on in New York that needs looking at?”

Melisandre quirked her eyebrows at him. “There’s always things to look at in New York. Is there any particular reason you want to go there?”

“No…I just…you know it’s such a major economic and tourism hub I thought it would be good to visit, make sure things are running smoothly.”

“I’ll get in touch with Mayor Bolton’s office immediately.” Melisandre said.

-  
After finishing up business in Westchester County, Jon headed to Manhattan. He had a meeting planned with Mayor Bolton and then was headed to the Bowery Hotel, to check-in.

He had texted Sansa as soon as he found out he was going to New York, and he got an excited text back, inviting him over to her apartment in Greenwich Village. He couldn’t wait to see her, and found himself checking his phone constantly. He had never felt this way about anyone, except maybe for Dany in the early part of their relationship. Dany had just seem so poised and sure of herself, so unlike him he thought. She was smart, and beautiful, president of her sorority and also on the debate team. Even now, Jon often thought that she should be Governor of New York, not him. He knew she had wanted to go to law school, but had chosen to stay at home with their kids, plus she had been pregnant on and off for the last couple years, before getting her tubes tied with Rickon’s birth. She was now in the process of getting her a mid-career Master’s in Public Policy from Columbia, and he knew that it gave her satisfaction to be back in school. Despite not feeling the same passion for Dany that he felt for Sansa, he still felt fond of her and enjoyed her intelligence. 

The meeting with Ramsay went as well as expected—which meant Ramsay made sexist and racist comments about practically everyone in New York government. That guy made Jon’s skin crawl. How he got elected to mayoral office beat him. At least New York’s tourism industry was going well, despite having to spend millions of dollars defending Baratheon Tower. Speaking of other politicians Jon hated, Robert Baratheon was at the top of the list. He was married to Cersei Lannister, Republican Party Chair, but had somehow weaseled his way to winning the presidency. He was a buffoon—chauvinist, he only cared about himself and typing of tweets in the middle of the night. He was nothing like the constituents he had claimed to represent. And Jon knew that the real person who ran Washington wasn’t President Baratheon, but his snaky vice-president, Littlefinger. Cersei, Robert, and Ramsay were the epitome about what Jon hated in modern politics. They were also partly the reason he ran as a Democrat, despite having a more moderate platform, and considering himself a centrist. 

He shook himself out of his thoughts. He got to see Sansa tonight—beautiful, sweet, kind Sansa. She was so different from Dany—he couldn’t even compare their traits. While Dany was meticulous and kind of anal, Sansa was artistic and creative. Dany spoke in short, straight sentences, Sansa spoke in floating tones. 

After checking into the Bowery, he sat, jittery in his hotel room, waiting for a text from Sansa that she was home from the ballet and ready for him to come over. 

Sansa: Done with rehearsal. Meet me at my apartment in 45 min? I have ingredients for dinner. Do you like rosé?

Jon: Yes! My favorite type of wine. See you there~

It took everything in him to stop from getting nervous. He was acting a love-struck teenager on his first date. He had to get his shit together. Looking in the mirror, he noticed he was still wearing his suit-and-tie uniform. Knowing he wanted to appear more relaxed, he changed into a sweater and jeans. 

He fiddled around on his Blackberry (yes—still a blackberry—they were better for security reasons than iPhones), and then proceeded to leave his hotel room. His bodyguard/best friend/like a brother, Sam, was standing outside.   
“Jon—do you want me to come with?” Sam was the only one he had told that he had “private” business to attend to, though he didn’t know what. 

“Yes—I think I’d prefer that you stay here, if you don’t mind. I should be back later tonight.” Jon knew it was too much of a risk if he stayed at Sansa’s overnight—but he knew he was being presumptuous in assuming that she even wanted him to stay over. 

“Ok, just be safe,” Sam said, looking like he was wincing a little. 

Jon went down to the front desk and asked them to hail a cab. The concierge seemed surprised, as most people called Uber or Lyft if they needed a ride. “I…I don’t have a smart phone,” Jon said, guessing from the concierge’s amused expression. 

He put on a ball cap as he walked down the stairs, and he felt finally as if he was normal again, not Governor Jon Snow—just Jon Snow, who had a date with a pretty girl with no ulterior motives. He got in the cab, and went to Sansa’s. 

-  
Sansa’s apartment was in a quaint brick building in Greenwich Village, and when she opened up the door he could tell that she had made it her space.

“Jon!” She said, smiling, opening the door. She looked as beautiful as ever. Her red hair was down and loose, almost reaching her waist. She was wearing a loose sweater that showed a bit of her shoulder and yoga pants. Her feet were bare, but he could see bandages around her toes. 

He went for a hug, but it was a bit awkward—like neither of them knew what to do. 

Suddenly, a big, wolf-like dog came running towards him, almost knocking him down.

“Ghost! Stop!” Sansa said, pulling Ghost down by his collar. “He gets so excited by new people—come in.”

He did—her apartment was small, but decorated just like he thought it would be. It was feminine, with painted yellow lemon walls and old French movie posters framed. The living room led to what he assumed was her bedroom, and he could see that she had installed a barre in front of a mirror to practice. 

“This is it!” Sansa said brightly. “It’s small but…”

“I love it,” Jon interrupted. He turned to face her. “I…I…I’m glad I’m here,” he said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I…I can’t either.” He moved closer to Sansa who was clutching a spatula for cooking. 

He reached out and pulled her closer, the spatula falling to the floor. 

“You’re beautiful Sansa Stark,” he said, putting his hand on her neck. Her eyelids fluttered. He leaned into kiss her, and it was like he remembered—it felt like coming home. Their kiss was long, and when Sansa pulled apart her eyelids were closed. She opened them, and her gaze was clear. 

“There will be plenty of time for that later,” she said with a smirk, “I’ve got an omelet to make.” She moved to the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.

“No…I’m going to put protein in it, but I’m supposed to stay low-carb for ballet, so I bought you a baguette if you want some carbs.”

“That’s fine,” he said.

“It should be ready in ten minutes.” He walked around the apartment, familiarizing himself with the space. He noticed Sansa was playing Miles Davis.

“You like jazz?” He asked, looking at her record player.

She smiled. “Well, you know…classical music isn’t the only genre I like,” she said, teasing.

“I know but…Some Kind of Blue, it’s my favorite album.”

“Mine too. That and 1989 by Taylor Swift,” she said, sticking her tongue out. 

“Now you’ve got to be kidding,” Jon said. “See I plugged you for more of a Katy Perry kind of girl!”

She laughed musically at his teasing. He went over to a stack of picture frames. There was one with a red-haired woman that looked like her mother, and then one with two guys in military uniforms, and one with a boy that looked like he was maybe her brother. He found a family portrait in the back. He gasped audibly. Stark…Sansa Stark…Senator Ned Stark…what? The picture in the frame showed her entire family in the Senate Building in Washington, D.C. Her dad was shaking the hand of Vice President Littlefinger, but he didn’t look happy about it. They were all dressed quite formally. She couldn’t be the daughter of the Senate Minority Leader could she? Senator Stark was the most prominent Democratic member in the Senate. How could he not have known? Sansa Stark from Minnesota. If there was one politician Jon admired, it was Ned Stark. He had been in the Marines, and then transitioned to a life of politics after finishing law school. Ned was principled, smart, and knew how to handle bullies like President Baratheon. 

He had always felt like he had some connection to Ned—they had large families. Her remembered reading somewhere that Senator Stark had five kids—Sansa must have been one of them.

“You didn’t know?” Sansa said, sensing his reaction.

“No…I mean…I didn’t think.”

“Yeah…my dad is kind of a big deal. That’s why I tend to stay away from lawyers and politicians and that type…you weren’t in the marines were you?”

“No…I mean I was in the National Guard.”

Sansa threw up her hands, mocking. “Well that’s it, I’m with a guy that’s like my father!” She laughed. 

“Wait…so who are the rest of them?” Jon said, pointing to the people in the photo. 

“I have two older brothers—Robb and Theon. They’re both in the military but Robb is a lot better than Theon,” she said, laughing. “You’d like Robb, Theon—not as much. Arya is seventeen. She got a scholarship to play soccer at Yale. She’s way smarter than me and is basically a genius. Bran is only a baby. Well he’s eleven, but I think he was a mistake, though my parents will never fess up to it.”

“And so you know politics?”

“Kind of. I’ve seen the type of people my dad has to deal with on a regular basis and they’re pretty awful. It never was of interest to me...I was a much better dancer.”

“Wait so you know President Baratheon?”

“Yes. I mean, I’ve met him a couple of times because of required functions and such. He’s a buffoon, but his son, Joffrey is the real ass. It’s ironic too, because you know you’ve met his daughter…Myrcella? Because God wants to play a cruel joke on me she’s a dancer too…but not as good as me which I know gives my dad some pleasure.” She said, laughing. 

“And Littlefinger?”

“Ugh…” she said, continuing to chop the green onion for the omelet. “He’s the worst. The one time I met him, he was trying to hit on me the whole time. In fact, it was that picture! I couldn’t imagine being with someone like that…I was only 18 or something. He does all this Christian values crap but he doesn’t live it.” She said, as the omelet sizzled. 

Jon blushed. Maybe she thought of him as weird or creepy? She was twenty-two, he was thirty-three…she seemed to sense his mood shift. 

“It’s not the same with us,” she said, nodding her head. “He’s like sixty.”

“Are you calling me an old man?” He said, inching towards her. “No not at all, you’re quite handsome and hot,” she said, her breath fanning. He got closer to her and pressed kisses to her neck. 

He could feel her shiver underneath him, and his arousal grew. He turned her around to face him. She lunged forward, kissing him breathlessly. 

The omelet burned to a crisp, forgotten.


End file.
